The air in the chamber was thick with tension and worry as the doors burst open once again, and Krishna entered with the rest of the Pandavas trailing behind him. The look of sheer panic on their faces mirrored the fear that had already gripped Bhanu and Yudhishthira. Following them closely was the royal physician, his face calm but his eyes alert, ready to tend to Vajra.

Krishna's gaze swept over the scene—Suthanu knelt by Vajra's bedside, her face pale with fear and tears streaming down her cheeks. Bhanu sat rigid, his hand trembling as he held onto his son's small hand. Yudhishthira stood frozen, his eyes hollow with guilt, his soul weighed down by the burden of the past. As the physican examined Vajra , the silence was broken. 

"How is he , Vaidya?" Krishna's voice was soft, but the concern beneath it was unmistakable.

Before the physician could respond, a weak sound escaped from Vajra's lips, barely a whisper but loud enough to freeze everyone in the room.

"Matamaha... no... it cannot be true... Matamaha..."

The words hung in the air like a dagger, cutting deep into the hearts of those who loved the boy. Suthanu's breath caught in her throat as her son, even in the throes of fever and unconsciousness, cried out for the truth he had heard to be a lie. His small voice, laden with disbelief and sorrow, echoed the storm of emotions that had overwhelmed his heart.

Yudhishthira stumbled backward, the weight of those words hitting him like a physical blow. His chest constricted painfully, his guilt tightening its grip around his soul. He knew—he knew—that Vajra had heard the worst of their past, of the dice game, of Draupadi's humiliation. And now, the boy's innocent heart, which had once adored his grandfathers without question, was breaking.

Arjuna, his face stricken with grief, hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. His eyes were fixed on Vajra, who lay still on the bed, his small body burning with fever. Every part of Arjuna wanted to comfort the boy, to tell him that it wasn't the whole truth, that the Pandavas weren't the villains he had come to hear. But what could he say to a child so hurt, so torn between love and betrayal?

Arjuna knelt by the bedside, his fingers trembling as he reached out. He placed his hand gently on Vajra's leg, but the heat that radiated from the boy's skin startled him. His eyes widened as he realized just how high the fever was. "He's burning up," Arjuna whispered, his voice thick with worry. He looked up at the physician, who was already moving toward Vajra with practiced urgency.

The physician bent over the child, his hands gentle but quick as he further examined him. He mixed herbs with water and began tending to Vajra, his face focused and calm despite the severity of the situation. But even as he worked, the room remained steeped in the palpable sorrow that had gripped everyone's hearts.

Yudhishthira, who had been standing motionless, listening to Vajra's fevered whispers, could no longer bear the weight pressing down on him. His legs buckled beneath him, and with a low, anguished sound, he sank to his knees.

"Pitashree!" Bhanu cried out, rushing to his side instantly, followed closely by the rest of the Pandavas.

Yudhishthira's face was pale, his eyes filled with an unbearable sadness. His hands trembled as he gripped the floor, his heart feeling as though it was being torn apart from the inside. The sight of his beloved grandson, the child who had always looked up to him with such innocence and love, now tormented by the truth of their past—it was too much to bear. He felt the weight of every decision, every mistake, every failure crushing him in that moment.

"It's all my fault," Yudhishthira whispered, his voice barely audible, as though he could hardly bring himself to speak the words. "This... this pain in his heart... it's because of me."

Bhanu knelt beside him, his hands steady as he gripped Yudhishthira's shoulder. "Pita, no," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "This is not your fault. You have taught Lal so much... he loves you, he admires you. He's just hurt... he's just a child."

Krishna, standing at the back, watched silently, his own heart heavy with the weight of the moment. He had seen many battles, many moments of pain and sorrow, but seeing Yudhishthira—the man who had always borne the responsibility of righteousness—now broken by the anguish of a child's tears, was something that tore his heart too. Yudhisthira's eyes looked upto Krishna slowly and the latter gently motioned his head in negative trying to comfort him. Tears gathered in Yudhisthira's eyes as he closed his eyes letting it fall. 

The rest of the Pandavas hovered around Yudhishthira, their faces ashen, their eyes reflecting the same guilt and sorrow that now consumed their eldest brother. They, too, had heard Vajra's whispers—his disbelief, his pain. And they, too, felt the weight of that betrayal, even if it was unintended.

Suthanu, who had remained silent through it all, finally rose to her feet. Her heart was torn between her love for her son and her concern for her father. She took a hesitant step toward Yudhishthira, her tears blurring her vision. But as she moved, she felt a small tug at her hand.

She looked down, and to her shock, Vajra's hand had tightened around hers. Even in his fevered state, even as he lay unconscious, his small fingers clung to her, as though seeking some comfort, some connection to the love he so desperately needed in that moment.

"Lal..." she whispered, her voice breaking. She knelt beside him again, her hand gently stroking his burning forehead, her heart aching for the child who had been caught in the crossfire of emotions far too complex for his young mind to understand.

"What do we do?" Pradyumna voice was barely a whisper, but it was laden with the weight of his emotions as a father. "How do we undo this misunderstanding?"

None could answer. 

Yudhisthira was silent. His heart felt hollow, his soul too heavy with the burden of knowing that his grandson's love for him might be tainted by the scars of the past. He had always believed in the power of truth, of dharma, but now... now that very truth had wounded the heart of the one person he never wanted to hurt.

"I don't know," Yudhishthira whispered breaking the silence, his voice raw with emotion. "I don't know."

The room fell silent again, the only sound the faint whisper of the physician's gentle movements as he continued to care for Vajra. Suthanu, her hand still resting on her son's, looked up at the others, her eyes filled with silent tears. She could see the love they all had for Vajra, the deep pain they all felt in knowing how much he was suffering. But she was torn apart—caught between the love for her child and the love for the men who had raised her.

The tension in the room was suffocating, the weight of unspoken words, of unbearable guilt and sorrow, pressing down on them all. Even Krishna remained silent, his heart aching for the child who had always looked to him with such adoration and love. He loved his grandson dearly. 

The only sound that could be heard was the faint, fevered whispers of a child who had been shattered by the truth desperately wanting it to be a lie. 

Suthanu sat quietly by Vajra's bedside, her hand gently stroking her son's fevered brow. Her heart ached, torn between the love she bore for her child and the deep sorrow that had engulfed her beloved fathers. Vajra's face, flushed with fever, looked so small, so vulnerable, and her own pain mirrored the turmoil swirling in his innocent heart.

Her other hand instinctively rested on her belly, a reminder of the life growing inside her. But instead of joy, all she felt was a gnawing uncertainty. The tension between her love for her child and her loyalty to the Pandavas was tearing her apart.

"Lal..." she whispered softly, though she knew he couldn't hear her. His small hand lay limp in hers, but she clung to it as if it were the only anchor holding her to reality. The boy who had always been a source of joy, of innocent mischief, now lay silent, consumed by a fever born not only of physical ailment but of emotional pain.

She felt a wave of nausea hit her, not from the pregnancy, but from the overwhelming stress that had taken root in her soul. Her body, already fragile with the new life growing inside, struggled under the burden of it all. The sorrow in her heart seeped into every corner of her being, making it hard to breathe.

Suthanu closed her eyes, willing herself to be strong. But as the tears slid silently down her cheeks, she realized how helpless she felt. She didn't know how to ease Vajra's pain, nor could she bear to see her father—the men who had been taught her life and comprised her world—so broken. And Bhanu...  her Adi had been running between her and the Pandavas, his own heart stretched thin with the weight of his roles as a father, husband and a son.

Her gaze drifted toward the door where Bhanu had left hours ago, rushing after the Pandavas. She knew he was trying to be strong for her, for Vajra, for everyone, but she could feel his turmoil. He was being pulled in every direction, trying to mend the fractures in their family while keeping his own heart from shattering.

A faint sound at the door startled her from her thoughts. Bhanu entered the room, his face drawn with exhaustion, deep sadness etched within his eyes. He walked over to Vajra's bedside, kneeling down beside Suthanu. His hand found hers, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, laden with the grief they both carried.

"He's still burning," Bhanu whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Suthanu nodded, her throat too tight to respond. She leaned her head on Bhanu's shoulder, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on them both. Bhanu shifted quickly to her side , holding her in his embrace. 

"How are they?" Suthanu finally asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Bhanu hesitated, his gaze shifting to the floor. "They're... not well. Pita... he's consumed with guilt. The others... they're broken, Aaru. I've never seen them like this other than the dark day at the end of the Kurukshetra battle." His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat, trying to regain control. "I'm trying to... keep it all together, but it feels like everything is unraveling."

Suthanu's fingers tightened in his as her heart clenched. She felt the deep, bone-deep sorrow in his words, in his very breath. She turned her head slightly, looking up at him, her heart swelling with love and anguish.

"Adi," she whispered. "You've been carrying so much. You're trying to hold everything together, but... who's holding you?"

Bhanu's eyes closed for a brief second, his lips pressed together, fighting the emotions that stirred within. He didn't want her to see his fear, his helplessness. He had to be strong—for her, for Vajra, for the Pandavas—but her words broke something in him. The vulnerability he'd kept locked away surfaced as he met her gaze.

"I'm not holding," he confessed softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I'm failing, Aaru. I keep thinking I can fix this, make it right, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I can't. I can't fix any of it."

Suthanu's heart broke for him. She lifted her hand, gently brushing a tear from his cheek, her touch tender, filled with understanding. "You don't have to fix everything, Adi. You don't have to carry all of this alone."

He closed his eyes at her touch, leaning into her hand, the warmth of her palm on his face a small comfort amidst the storm. "But how can I let go? They need me. You need me. And... Lal..."

Suthanu's eyes softened as she looked at her son lying feverish beside them. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her own tears threatening to fall, but she stayed strong for Bhanu—for the man she loved more than anything. "He's strong," she whispered. "Like us. Like you - his MahaNaayaka."

Bhanu's hand moved instinctively to her belly, his fingers resting gently on the growing life within her. "And you?" His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, his love for her laced with concern. "I see the worry in your eyes, Aaru. I see the strain this has put on you. You can't carry this stress... not in your condition. I'm afraid for you."

Suthanu's hand covered his, the warmth of his touch comforting her. "I'm fine," she said softly, though her voice cracked slightly. "But... we need help, Adi. You need to talk to someone who can guide us, someone who can help us through this."

Bhanu's brows furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching hers. "Who? Who could possibly help me when everything feels so..." His voice trailed off again, his helplessness evident.

She leaned closer, her forehead gently resting against his. "Pita , your MahaNayakaa Adi," she whispered, her breath mingling with his. "He'll know what to do. He always does. We need him now, more than ever. Go to Pita."

Bhanu's eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her with a mixture of gratitude and hesitation. He knew Krishna had always been the guiding light of his life, but he hadn't thought to turn to him now. Perhaps he had been too consumed by his own need to protect everyone, to be the shield for his family.

"And what about you?" he asked, his voice low, filled with concern. "I can't leave you like this. Not when you're carrying our child. I can't..."

"I'll be fine , Adi," she interrupted gently, her hand slipping to cup his face. "Our child will be here, safe. But you... you need this. For us. For Lal. Please, Adi."

He stared at her for a moment, his heart swelling with the love he held for this woman, this strong, compassionate woman who always knew what he needed, even when he didn't. The one who loved him so much to look down upon her own sadness. His eyes softened, his lips pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "I can't do this," he whispered.

Suthanu smiled faintly, her hand resting on his cheek. "Only you can Adi , only my Adi can uproot this sorrow with Pita's guidance."

"Go," she whispered, her voice soft. 

Bhanu pressed a kiss to her forehead again before rising to his feet. 

The night sky above Dwarka was a canvas of stars, serene and beautiful, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions that raged in Bhanu's heart. He made his way to Krishna's chambers with a heavy step, feeling the weight of the day dragging him down. Every moment, every breath, seemed to add to the unbearable burden he carried as a father, a husband and a son.

When Bhanu reached Krishna's quarters, he hesitated for a moment, his hand resting on the door. He needed strength, he needed answers, but most of all, he needed the comfort that only his father could provide. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

Krishna sat near the window, the soft glow of moonlight casting a peaceful aura around him. His face, though calm, held a quiet understanding, as if he had already anticipated Bhanu's arrival. Without saying a word, Krishna motioned for Bhanu to sit beside him.

Bhanu, exhausted and overwhelmed, sank into the seat next to his father, his head hanging low. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was filled with unspoken words, the love of a father and son who didn't need conversation to understand each other.

Finally, it was Bhanu who broke the silence, his voice trembling with emotion.

"Pita... I don't know what to do anymore," he whispered. "Everything is falling apart. Lal... he's broken, shattered by what he's learned. My father-in-laws... they are consumed by guilt and sorrow. Thanu... she is trying to stay strong, but I can see her breaking too. And I... I don't know how to hold any of it together."

Krishna's eyes softened as he listened, his heart aching for his son. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on Bhanu's shoulder, grounding him in that simple, loving touch.

"You have always carried more than your share of burdens, Lal," Krishna said softly, his voice filled with compassion. "But you are not alone. You never have been."

Bhanu's eyes filled with tears, the weight of everything he had held inside for so long finally breaking through. He looked at Krishna, his father, the man who had always been a source of unshakable strength and wisdom, and for the first time, he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

"But it feels like I am alone, Pita," Bhanu said, his voice cracking. "Lal... he's in so much pain. The boy who was once so full of joy and innocence now lies fevered and broken, crying out for the truth he doesn't want to be true. How do I help him see the truth when I'm struggling to even keep myself from drowning in all of this?"

Krishna's expression softened further, and he pulled Bhanu closer, wrapping his arm around his son's shoulders. It was a simple gesture, but in that moment, it was everything Bhanu needed. For all his strength, for all his responsibilities, he was still a son, and in Krishna's arms, he felt that comfort deeply as he held Krishna closer. 

"You are not expected to have all the answers, Lal," Krishna murmured gently. "You are not expected to carry this burden alone. Vajra's pain is real, but so is his love for you, for Suthanu, for the Pandavas. Right now, his heart is clouded by anger and confusion, but it is your light that will guide him through this storm."

Bhanu closed his eyes, leaning further into his father's embrace. "But I don't know if I'm strong enough. I look at him, and I see my son—my little boy, filled with so much love—and now, all I see is his hurt. His painful ache. I don't know how to reach him."

Krishna was silent for a moment, letting Bhanu's words hang in the air. Then, with a quiet sigh, he spoke, his voice low and steady.

"Lal, do you remember when you were a child? When you first came to understand the weight of the world? The responsibilities that would one day be yours?"

Bhanu nodded slowly. "I do, Pita. I remember feeling overwhelmed. I remember feeling... afraid."

Krishna smiled faintly, his hand still resting on Bhanu's shoulder. "And do you remember what I told you then?"

Bhanu thought back to those days, to the moments when Krishna would sit with him, much like this, guiding him through the complexity of life with wisdom and love. A memory surfaced, clear and vivid.

"You told me that no matter how heavy the burden, love would always be my strength," Bhanu whispered, the realization sinking in. "That love would guide me when everything else seemed lost."

Krishna nodded. "And that is still true today, my son. Dulhara is in pain, yes. But it is not a pain that cannot be healed. He is angry and hurt, not because he has lost his love for the Pandavas, but because he feels lost in an incomplete truth. His heart is battling between his deep love and pain, and that is why he is suffering."

Bhanu's chest tightened, his heart aching for his son. "But how do I help him see that? How do I help him find his way back to the truth when his heart is against it at the moment?"

"You don't need to force him to see anything," Krishna said gently. "You just need to be there. Be the father you have always been. Hold him when he needs it, listen when he is ready, and love him unconditionally, as you always have. That love, Lal, will heal him. It may take time, but it will. Trust in that."

Bhanu looked at his father, the man who had always been his guiding light. He could see the deep well of love and understanding in Krishna's eyes, and in that moment, Bhanu felt a wave of calm wash over him.

"But it's not just Vajra , Pita," Bhanu said after a moment. "My father-in-laws , fatherly figures... they're hurt too. And I... I don't know how to be a son to them when I'm barely holding myself together."

Krishna's gaze softened further, and he pulled Bhanu closer, letting the silence between them speak volumes before he finally answered.

"You don't have to have all the answers, Lal. You don't have to fix everything. Sometimes, being a son means simply being present. Their pain is their own, but just as you carry love for your son, they carry love for you. They feel their own guilt, their own sorrow, but what they need most right now is not your answers—it is your presence. A reassurance."

Bhanu nodded slowly, letting the words settle deep within him. The overwhelming sense of responsibility that had weighed so heavily on him began to ease, replaced by the quiet understanding that he did not have to face this alone. His father, his family—they were all bound by love, and in that love, they would find their strength.

As Bhanu opened his mouth to speak, a sudden knock at the door interrupted their quiet moment. Bhanu's heart raced as the voice outside spoke urgently.

" Rajkumar Bhanu , you are called."

Panic surged through Bhanu as he immediately rose to his feet. Krishna stood as well, his calm demeanor never faltering.

Without another word, they both rushed toward the door, the weight of the moment crashing down upon Bhanu once again. But this time, he wasn't alone. This time, his father was by his side, guiding him, just as he always had.

And as he ran toward Vajra's chambers, Bhanu clung to the words Krishna had spoken—clung to the love that had always been his anchor, even in the darkest of storms.

To be continued...

Damn , I missed this part totally. 

Yudhisthira and Vajra confront in the next ! But maybe I don't want you to keep you all waiting so double update :) 

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